Que Sera, Sera.


  Like any Tuesday, I was off to a good start. A new day. I had worked later than usual the night before to make a deadline at the office. It paid off. I was praised on the job via email with a veritable who’s who cc’ed on the thread. Felt good, got to take off early and hit up a nearby historic landmark, Vichy Hot Springs in Ukiah, CA. You can visit the grounds of the private property with a purchase of a day pass or 2 hours for a fee. So much worry and tension we put on ourselves each day, felt good to transmute, dissolve, and wash them all away with warm waters deep from within the Earth and carried with it new properties transported with billions of Champagne like bubbles and penetrating minerals. An hour and thirty minutes into my soak I decide I’d like to lay out for a bit and read as our divine planet shifts and wobbles slowly enough to take notice of the ever slanting shadows over short bare grass as the daylight sparkles onto the yellowing leaves above the ghostly moving waters of the pool like you see in painted reflections of moonlight. 

   There’s something magical about five o’clock in the eve after Autumnal Equinox in the Western Hemisphere. With just enough sun to highlight a new window, a prelude before witnessing the daily transformation from day to night. I gather my things to head over to a nice patch of sunlit grass. I had forgotten my sandals and took pleasure in walking barefoot on stone. I pivoted myself with my right hip as I thought, “maybe a quick dip in the hot tub?” “Nope”, I decided, but before that thought had materialized into my voluntary reaction an involuntary one ensued. The feeling was memorizing, it was as if I was savoring each instant as time seems to change when overcoming a threshold. Pain, physical, visceral pain. The shift in pressure felt reversed, gravity didn’t feel like it belonged. I lifted my right foot inwards to see what I had just stepped upon, as I did a notion of black and yellow flew off my toe and toward my face. My toe was in so much pain I didn’t rightly care of the others buzzing about, my main concern was seeing what was causing this feeling. I pulled the whole barbed yellow jacket stinger clean out like sword in the stone and flung it away, “FUCK! THAT FUCKING HURT!” was all I could say. I did all the mental tricks to remain calm and decided that quick dip in the hot tub would be quite fine. I meditated real hard and attempted to let go of resisting the pain and then laughed my ass off cause why not?! I was still having a damn good day. I dried myself off and hobbled my way to the front desk to check out and pay for my two hour stay.
  Like most Tuesdays, I learned more stuff about myself, like how rad I am for having hydrogen peroxide nearby and how pain can at times come and transform. Each day a cycle. A continuation of the next living before, what will be, will be. And yes, that’s the song that’s been stuck in my head since I got stung that inspired this whole post. Oh, Doris Day, Happy Tuesday!

The Devil’s Condition.

Across the dark forest

The creatures they stare

Eating blue eyed babies

As the loins they bare

Letting go of the past

The creatures move on

Awaiting the day

To hear the devil’s song

In every shade of blue

Made just for you

Didn’t want this part,

Never auditioned,

Don’t want to be typecast

The Devil’s condition

Will not play host

Reliving exorcism

Won’t give satisfation

The Devil’s position

Haunted by sadness

I give unto you

I am your material girl

I’m your devil too

Holy Water.

And when truth taps you on the shoulder
Who is left to hold her?
When she comin’ aftah’
Trapped in the stratus
Liquid silver flickers
Seals and ignites
Feelings over flames
Please standby
When tensions get subtropic
Atmospheric pressure starts seepin’ in
Seeking shallow places now
Where the aurora grows
Watch the glow
Swallow whole revealing
Rotate and twist me now
Cauterizing Holy Spirit
Catch your divine tears and keep it
Trust me where you headed you might need it
When you finally realize you lost in the desert now
When the well’s run out
The mirage’s generator is through
Two stroke pleads mixing now
With hallow bones
And five rounds to make peace
Watch the glow
Swallow whole relieving
Deceiving is believing
Rotate & twist me now
Aligned just right
Listen for the burn
Come hither softly
Inhale the mess left
Found that shallow place now
Reside in the residue
Cauterizing wounds as it heals
Flash that holy water now
But you left it in the lake
Time levees break
Nothing left to swallow
Only time to kill
And a hell of a headache


Where does one get bone?
Why, you grow it my darling.
Long sought
Ossifying letters
Ingrained with art & names
Brands drop
Skull, spine, rib-cage
Stalking light
Made for graves
Vivaxis please
Bring on that sacred
Crawl to stand
Scroll to click
Permeating will tells
Inform the matter
All just a blip
Make sense of it all
May sound touch hear
See to seed
Taste of golden
Future echos to remember
Calcified stain
Ion moving through
Notice too the marrow
Flow to fields
However directing current
Dreams intention
How does one get home?
Why, you grow my darling.

Snake Oil.

Fighting for the right parts to stay the same
Not for nothing now
How could you see the reaction?
Stalling the hidden parts
Disclose no discourse
Not for nothing now
Sales of men
Please remove your fist groping for the front door
Trailing trips and crypts of paper
Selling a new maker
Offered shores for scores
Forced propose 
Convinence abuse
Snake oil addict
All is takes is one drop
Internal organs slow and remain
No crossing starts or making clear lines
Snake oil addict
All it took was one drop
Glowing hot harvest
Investments gone belly-up

Forever lost the bright crop


  I found myself a mobile platform. It had been staring me in the face this whole time. In spring of 2002, my second semester of college I was able to secure a journalism class; Jour 011- Introduction to Mass Media. Mrs. M wrote for papers all over before digital consumed ink. She shared the end of an age with one simple click. For our second assignment we were to start a “blog” and publish one post per day. I thought, “the future is here, but who the fuck wants to read my diary?” I was crass and ended up dropping the class. It took me more than a decade to give my own fuck and I’m OK with that. Blogging is an excellent exercise in self-expression.

   I enjoy publishing my poetry sporadically throughout my blog. It’s cathartic for me. It’s why I do it. I highly recommend it.  What is your part? Who is the focus? Where does your story take you? When will it begin? How do you feel? Again and again it begins with creation through expression.